Yeshua is wise yes
Fall feast soon approaching us
Autumn cold brings hope
I can't do it
My heart tries
But the bee
Is where my rose lies
The River flows
Giving life to all
But the snake
Is where my eyes fall
The snow offers joy
So many sledding on slopes
But the pending danger
Is where my hope ropes
...and I hang on for dear life
Life...that's a laugh
Where is living in dying
Try as I might, my system
Forbids access to what desire is buying
I press my pen against paper
Demanding it write out my joy
But it sighs and retracts
Sighting all effort as a ploy
My pen is right, there's no point
In writing about what I haven't known
I'm told a great harvest is coming
For the many good seeds I have sown
...and I wait in the patience my tent now holds
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-30-2026
Oh, he wrote me many poems
All about my blue, blue eyes
Comparing them to flowers
And the beauty of the skies.
Well, of course, he never knew
It's my contacts that are blue.
Oh, he wrote me many poems
All about my blue, blue eyes
Comparing them to flowers
And the beauty of the skies.
Well, of course, he never knew
It's my contacts that are blue.
I found her on the edge of a cliff,
Waiting for someone who promised to show up.
She watched the birds, watched the clouds,
And felt the breath of a freedom
She once dreamed of.
Some time passed.
She kept visiting the cliff for her man,
Counting trees, counting stars,
While her days quietly passed.
Then, one day, he showed up on the same cliff,
Carrying a bunch of excuses
For why he couldn't make it on time.
But she was happy to see him—
Until he fumbled,
Searching for reasons why it couldn't work.
She put on the armor
And became her own savior,
For herself and for him.
And before he could confess,
She had already changed her mind.
She left the cliff
And never looked back.
Moved to another city,
And began her journey
From scratch.
If you love me, tell me now.
Actions speak louder than words,
Especially when I wear my heart like a crown.
You’re my choice of drug—
Addictive.
Mentally, physically, and emotionally.
You’re the queen of my heart,
No crown needed.
Till death do us part,
But death will be beneath us.
Nothing will ever come between us.
Eyes blue like the Atlantic,
So deep I get lost in them.
My lips on your skin—
What a heavenly taste.
You’re all I desire;
You can call it a sin.
You’re mine, forever and always.
Pull me closer.
I’m in your arms, my love.
All my worries fade away,
Like a cloud on a sunny day.
You’re perfection.
You’re my peace in every storm.
Even on the darkest days,
Your smile still shines through.
Just me and you.
Because in the lonely bed the virgin trembles, spurring the wind to wake from her sleep before the gates of heaven close, before we fade to ashes — and there is nothing that we do not know the true meaning of - Silivester Kiik (2026).
***
The time has come
the sleepy stars
on the shoulders of the old hut
invite us—go
don't turn away.
Behind—the shadow of anger
tears our footsteps
filling the air with footsteps and dust.
The time has come
the stars never acknowledge
fidelity is theirs
because the flowers
in the bride's courtyard
— realize it
don't prophesy
let us go.
For on the lonely bed
— the virgin trembles
drives the wind
awakens from her sleep
before the gates of heaven close
before we fade to ashes
— and there is nothing
that we don't truly know the meaning of.
Atambua, March 11, 2024
***
Note:
I have turned this poem into a song. However, the song is in Indonesian. You can watch it on my YouTube channel Silivester Kiik.
Here, my beloved. Let us burn the beautiful dreams that have died.
Here, in this valley. Let us build a funeral pyre. From fallen orchid petals and soft, green leaves.
Here, under the face of the sun. Let us burn all the belated praises facing the clouds in the blazing pyre of midday.
We are tired; my heart, we are weary. For so long, we have carried the heavy burden of love from dreams that have died. Let us rest.
Let us scatter the ashes; let us mourn for a while. Let us rest, my beloved, until the gray shadows in the west.
But soon we must rise, my beloved. We must wander again. Into the conflict of self.
Let us rise, my beloved. Let us gather the remaining dreams. For we will conquer the sorrows of life with songs of sorrow.
Atambua, March 12, 2026
A long time ago; perhaps it's passed
—I don't know if I've been there
along with days lost in thought
in limpness.
My age has been recorded
in a trace
for the sun
that seems to crush
mountains of hope
in a self-note
that sincerely blows
without wind.
I want to go home
to delve into the depths of the alpha verses of self
someday tomorrow—to meet a clump of light
as a trace of self.
Atambua, March 12, 2026
The hearth grows cold where
once our futures burned,
Unspoken grief fills every
empty space,
We weep for lessons that we
learned too late.
Your touch remains a ghost
upon my skin,
The sweetest war that we
could never win,
I bless the love before the
tears begin.
The morning brings the
memory of your grace,
A gentle light that time
cannot erase,
And all my world is captured
in your face.
We loved enough to build a
beautiful home.
We loved enough to let each other go.
May we both find peace in
the quiet after.
Love isn't something you find.
Love is something that finds you.
In every distance away
from you,
I'd still choose you.
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